A Figure from The Mist

Nathan staggered back, blood trickling from his head as he braced against the damp tunnel wall. His breath came hard and fast, matching the relentless pounding in his head. Across from him, Isabella grunted, struggling to rise from the debris, her once-flawless suit torn and streaked with dirt. Her fingers fumbled toward the broken wreckage near her feet, where her gun lay half-buried beneath splintered wood.

Nathan raised his own weapon, aiming it directly at her. "Don't," he warned, voice low and dangerous as he moved closer to her using the gun to touch the back of her head.

Isabella froze, one hand trembling just inches from the gun. She lifted her gaze to meet his, lips curling into a bitter smile.

"Look at you," she spat, voice dripping with mockery. "You think you're so righteous, pointing that gun. But deep down... you're just like me. Cold. Ruthless. Heartless." She said with a wide smirk on her face.